


Hidden Energies

by cresserelle



Series: Vallnord [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Affection, Character Development, F/M, Floor Sex, Fluff and Smut, Happy Sex, Hidden Depths, Historical Fantasy, Humor, Loud Sex, Magic School, One Shot, Original Universe, Passion, Playful Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Quiet Sex, Ritual Sex, Secret Crush, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Magic, Slight Steampunk, University, no longer truly one shot but still works as one, risk of getting caught
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23834206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresserelle/pseuds/cresserelle
Summary: With the deadline approaching and their important Intermediate Alchemy project not yet finished, two enterprising students turn to some illicit magic to help them along.Wholesomely heartwarming and obscenely filthy, as all things should be.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Vallnord [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776262
Kudos: 33





	Hidden Energies

Twelve minutes remained.

Niko, currently leaning back in his chair, reflected that although he rarely felt sure about much anything, he could at least be confident of that. After all, the contraption glimmering peacefully high above his head was likely the most perfect timekeeper in the whole world.

An “armillary sphere” is the proper term for these things, though everyone at the Academy simply called it “The Ticker.” It was an intricate mess of interlocking brass rings that represented planets, moons, major comets, or outer celestial spheres. It told you all astronomical information you could possibly need while working magic, the time included – at least once you learned how to make sense of it all. And so it was now definitely thirty-five minutes past midnight.

True to its name, the mechanism discreetly filled the silence with delicate, slick ticks. Considering the weight of the whole setup (the outer rings a good twenty feet in diameter) it was astonishing how light that ticking was. And the thing wasn’t even itself magical. It had all been carefully designed and crafted by meticulous silver-whiskered men in golden pince-nez, solely with the use of mathematics, metallurgy, and patience. This mechanism, suspended from the glass ceiling of the Great Conservatory of the Vallnord Academy, was quite deservedly famous nationwide.

And its ticking was now the only sound in this vast space… okay, not really. There was also the faint squeaking of Diane’s pen. 

Niko moved his eyes from the Ticker down to the girl seated across the table corner and absorbed in the pile of notes in front of her. Niko smiled. Every other student at the Academy, when focused on schoolwork, generally looked either worried or frustrated. But Diane, now as always, was calmly leaning forward in her chair, body in graceful, effortless balance, face partly covered by light blond hair – hair that seemed almost silvery where it poured over her shoulder, against the stark black velvet of her uniform. A tiny dimple above her right eyebrow was just about the only thing that betrayed any mental effort on her part.

He yawned, cleared his throat, and looked around the Conservatory. In this great round room, all was very familiar: the marble floor with its pale colourful tiles; the heavy bookshelves; the walls and the ceiling, all plate glass on a cast iron skeleton. “Knowledge and Virtue,” the school’s motto, shined at him reliably in gilded all-caps from above the door. And yet the place felt alien. It simply shouldn’t be this still. Of course, people would naturally default to a furtive silence when working here – the cathedral-like acoustics demanded that – but there is always a distinct sound to many people being quiet together. With nobody around, the reality of all things seemed eerily altered. 

The Conservatory was always gas-lit, and with that light reflecting off the glass, Niko could see nothing of the early-spring landscape outside. All the world was obliterated beyond the mirror panes. He and Diane might as well be the last people on earth.

What a thought. He looked back at her. And this is when she lifted her eyes, their probing blue meeting his. Well, it looked like he now had to say something.

“Weird here, isn’t it,” he ventured.

“How so?” The tone of her voice matched her poise, a little remote and formal, though far from dismissive.

“I mean, the Conservatory. It’s just so different so late at night.”

She looked around. “Yes, I suppose so. I don’t know, I’m kind of used to it.”

“What, you mean you come here often? At this hour?”

“Not often, but sometimes. It’s a good place to work.”

He snorted. “Of course.”

“Of course what?”

He gave her a grin which he hoped was charmingly mocking. “You’re just the most perfect student in the entire Academy, aren’t you?”

She tilted her head forward just a little bit, and produced a light smirk that he could only describe as gently condescending. Niko returned with a laugh, then stretched, stood up, and started pacing around. This was Diane for you. No matter how good or how terrible a joke you made, it was very difficult to make her laugh out – or even show her teeth – always just a stoic half-smile. But he liked her, actually. Sure, she was a little intimidating. When he had been accepted into the Academy, he’d felt like an impostor – a talentless hack from a small town that had somehow lucked his way among the nation’s most promising young magicians –until he gradually found out that everyone else felt pretty much the same way. Everyone except her – nah, she was definitely in her right place, confident natural competence and like five generations of alumni hanging out in the branches of her family tree. To be honest he’d felt a pang of pride when she proposed they do this project together, in class the week before. 

Presently she tossed her notebook aside. It glided on the table and stopped by the small stone bowl that was the reason of them being here at such dreadful hour. She glanced at Niko. He had left his uniform jacket tossed carelessly over his chair, leaving him in his white shirt. She watched it drape around his body as he stretched, pacing, with his back to her. He wasn’t bulky really, but his body had a nice, healthy definition to it. He’d been on his school’s five-a-side fireball team back in his hometown, he had mentioned that. Brown hair waved down almost to his shoulders. Diane’s eyes narrowed, and she was suddenly deep in thought. She never could quite guess what was going on in his head. He was thoughtful, quiet, a little nervous. But he had this playful side to him too, surprisingly bright and upbeat when at ease. Who was he, really? Perhaps she could find out. That little contingency of hers… well, steady now. First – she glanced at the Ticker; five minutes remained – first, the midnight catalyst.

“Alright,” she said, getting up, “let’s get ready.”

He walked back and stood by the table opposite from her. Right between them, in the middle of the table, stood the small stone bowl filled with coarse powder, ashen-red like dull cinders. It was a generic germinal powder, the kind that gardeners sprinkle on young plants to help with their growth. But more importantly, it was their trimester project for the Intermediate Alchemy class. 

They had spent the better part of the last two days carefully grinding its ingredients, roasting them on a kerosene stove, blending them with the exact timing required. Now there it stood, almost ready. All it needed now was the catalyst.

See, you can’t just mix together ingredients of a potion, powder, or any other magical compound, and just expect them to work – that would be like stitching together an animal from leftover bits at your local butcher’s and expecting it to trot off to the nearest pasture. No, obviously first you need to imbue your concoction with living magic. This magic you take from any object, being, or event with magical significance – your catalyst – and channel it in. The mind of a magician is the channelling agent. This is the bread and butter of most people in the industry. Also all this is really basic stuff that you have learned at school, I’m not sure why I’m dwelling on this.

A germinal powder, which acts on vital forces, obviously needs a vital catalyst – which was a bit of a complication. Any sensible first-year student of the Vallnord Academy always picked something with a fire catalyst, and then went off to Zargyll, the fire demon that dwells in the basement under the kitchens, who would trade you a nice burst of magical flame for a bottle of methanol. But no, Diane insisted they do this thing instead. Because, she said, boring old germinal powder belongs to a broader class of allaying materials, substances which help overcome obstructions to potential, which ease out hidden energies of living things; and is therefore a springboard into things which are not boring at all. Oh well.

Fortunately, if you don’t mind skimping on sleep, there is a broadly available catalyst which can be channelled for vital magic – and that is good, old, reliable midnight. Humans have always sensed its power. When life is at its stillest, when the sky is at its blackest, when your world turns its back on the sun and faces the ageless void – that’s when you do magic, vital or otherwise.

Just don’t go by the clock. These new-fangled time zones that put entire countries on the same hour are as relevant to midnight as meridians are to mountain ranges. The actual midnight over the Vallnord Academy is at 0:47 local time. The Ticker can tell you that, too.

This time had now come. Diane nodded, and closed her eyes. Niko followed suit.

Alright:

Loosen your muscles. Imagine that the crown of your head is hanging from a string. Relax your breath. Feel your awareness expand. Sense and note the bowl of powder on the table. Expand, root yourself, let the mind glide over the marble floor, beyond the glass walls, into the night… feel its chill. Feel the movement of the world. This is ancient magic, and very strong. You can sense it easily. Midnight, the witching hour, the solar nadir. Familiar sensation builds up. Magical energy surges all around you. The tide comes. Now feel the power build up inside you, accumulate, and… falter.

Wait, no.

Niko’s fingers twitched. He cleared his mind, inhaled, and tried again.

Draw. Draw the energy from around you, look for that vital current in the magic, a tingling in the spine… I said, look for the tingling in the spine. Spine…?

Niko opened his eyes. Across the table, Diane’s hands were extended away from her body as she was struggling to gather the energy in her – but from her scowl he could read that she wasn’t having any success, either.

“What the shit?” he asked. The time was definitely right. He could feel the midnight, he could feel its overall surge, it’s just its vital component was… bloodless somehow, listless and subdued.

Diane opened her eyes. “Well, this is strange,” she said, voice oddly controlled.

“Is something blocking us?”

“What would be blocking us? We have the right time, and…” She looked up to the Ticker, to the brass earth making its round among the rings…

“Ah. Okay. I see what’s wrong,” she said.

“Well?”

She pointed to the mechanism. “Both moons are on the wane.”

Niko looked up, discerned the two minor rings, and groaned. 

A waxing moon signifies growth, increase, abundance. A waning moon signifies decay, decline, rest.

Two waning moons at the same time mean that you just aren’t getting any vital energy at all from any astronomical catalyst, simply none.

He slumped to his chair and buried his fingers in his hair. “Well, we’re screwed.” Diane didn’t respond – she grabbed her suede postman bag and rummaged around. “I told you we should have just made some liquid flame and ran it by Zargyll!”

There was some definite sense of purpose about Diane. From the bag, she finally produced a book – a small and thin cloth-bound tome, the cover a faded carmine and the pages well yellowed. She looked at Niko, as if measuring him up. It was a while before she spoke.

“The project is due tomorrow at noon. We still have time to come up with a different catalyst.”

He looked at her doubtfully. To be honest, catalysts were something that you studied in later years. Less advanced students almost always limited themselves to the few simple ones everyone knew, fuelling Zargyll’s methanol habit.

She circled the table and took the chair right next to him. She leaned forward with a conspirational look.

“There’s the stream outside. Running water is always good for vital magic.”

He crossed his arms. “Man, channelling water sucks so hard though.”

“Yes, well, it’s tedious. We’d have to start really early in the morning to make it by noon.” She clicked her tongue. “But… there’s another way, one that’s way quicker and way easier.”

“Okay? What is it?”

She leafed through her book. “I’ll show you. But just so you know, it’s explicitly illegal by the Academy’s rules, so we’ll have to pretend we used the stream.”

Diane, the model student, advocating illegal shortcuts? He raised his eyebrows and smirked. “What are you getting us into? And what is this book, anyway?”

She found the page she had been looking for. “It’s just a regular compendium of common vital catalysts. It was published decades ago, though, in a different political climate. Some stuff here is not entirely in line with current ministry guidelines.” She now looked at him keenly. “So my proposition is here. Just don’t freak out, okay?”

“Okay, well, you are kind of freaking me out right now. What is it you have there, human sacrifice?”

Something like a smile lurked about her eyes. “That would be an interesting way to put it.” She handed him the book.

He glanced to the top of the open page. It read:

_49\. O AK MISTLETOE – the common mistletoe has powerful magical significance when growing on oak trees (esp. durmast oak, but also white oak, black oak, water oak, valley oak, holly oak). When harvested using… _

“Mistletoe? You want to climb an oak?”

“Not that,” she tapped the page impatiently. “I mean number 54.”

His eyes skimmed down. He read the entry number 54. It was very short and to the point, but to be honest, he sort of got distracted right at the title.

_54\. S HARED ORGASM – when practitioners of magic engage in sexual intercourse, they can use the resulting climax as a powerful and easily applied vital catalyst. Possibly the oldest trick in this book. _

Okay uh.

Did she say 54?

“Did you say 54?”

“Yup.”

_54\. S HARED ORGASM _

Oh. Um.

“Just to be clear,” he dropped the book on the table, “you mean we charge our powder with sex magic.”

“Yup.” Her eyes were still fixed on his, with perfect calmness.

“You mean… us two…?”

He vaguely indicated them both with his index finger. She vaguely twisted her wrist to indicate the room, and contained within it the utter lack of anyone else whom this could possibly concern.

She wasn’t sure what reaction she had been expecting. He was clearly caught off guard, but a rising blush and a hint of a smile creeping up his face looked like good signs. Nothing to do but wait for him to respond. Her chair creaked loudly as she leaned back, her elbows around its back.

As she did this he was still processing the proposal (from a very pretty and likeable girl who he had classified as out of his reach without even thinking too much about it) and also reconciling her poised formality with the brashness of the rule infringement that she had just suggested (this Academy was supposed to foster both knowledge and a staunch moral code – the Chancellor had insisted on this point in his speech at the start of the year, gilded toga and all!). And now, with the creak of the chair, he became very acutely aware of her body just within an arm’s reach, the long smooth legs in dark knee-high socks crossing under her skirt, an inch of bare skin of her lower back where her shirt had freed itself from the waistband, the smooth rise and fall of her breasts, snugly draped in crisp white cotton, the fabric tightening slightly as she drew in her breath—

He blinked and tried to think of an answer that would eloquently touch on all these points. 

“Huh,” he said.

Now she hesitated. Had she misread him? “I mean, we can do the stream thing, of course,” she said quickly. “I just thought that this way would be quicker, and, you know…” Amber light reflected in her blue eyes. “…fun. For us.”

He swallowed and leaned rapidly forward, hair flying into his eyes. “No yes, I agree! I mean…” he impatiently flicked the hair away, “I think it would be a lot of fun too. Let’s, yeah.” He groped for words. “Let’s do it.” He heard himself say this, and felt like he was falling.

Relief and excitement both washed over her. This time when she smiled, he even saw her teeth. “Okay.” She stood up. “See, I was hoping you would say that.”

He cleared his throat. “Okay. So, how do we do this? Is there any special ritual or something?” He tried to appear casual and collected, even as his body felt like dancing and screaming. Diane! Shared orgasms! Yes, yes, holy shit yes! She leaned on the table right next to him.

“Nope. It’s very old, very simple magic. You just place whatever you’re channelling into near you, acknowledge it before you start, and then just… do the usual thing.” Something belatedly occurred to her. “You’ve done this before, or…?”

“Well, yeah…” Back in his home town, Niko did in fact manage to get on friendly enough relations with the stationmaster’s daughter to persuade clothes off her; but that was a while ago. “Not since I’ve been here, though.”

“Then you should remember the basic mechanics. Let’s proceed.” And with that, she slipped out of her left shoe and reached for her sock. He stared.

“Wait, you mean… like, right here?” She gave a little shrug. “But…” he looked to the Conservatory’s massive, copper-studded door, which was slightly ajar, so that outside he could make out the dark staircase and the hallway leading up to it.

“All the times I’ve been here at this hour, I’ve never seen anyone come by.” She extended her arm towards the door and scowled in mental strain. Fifty feet away, the hinges groaned, moved as in draft, and the door closed with a heavy, echoing click. “And even if someone does, we should hear them coming. Hopefully, they won’t hear us coming.” With one smooth move, she pulled off her sock, put her bare foot on the floor, and then yelped as the marble sent a cold shock up her body. “O…kay, maybe let’s not do it on the floor.” She looked around, then tapped at the table. “How about here? The table’s large and really stable.”

He gave her an incredulous smile. “But… everyone works here!” These tables, very wide and long enough to fit fifteen people on one side, were where all the students spent a lot of their time. Even now they were littered with remnants of the day’s activity, with odd discarded pieces of scribbled paper, pencil shavings, and stains of spilled potions. On the table right next to theirs a gleaming thaumometer sat, its many tubes and wires still cooling down from the work a group of third year students had finished doing on it just half an hour before.

“Yeah.” She lifted herself up and sat on the table top, and proceeded to free her other leg. “And ever since tonight, whenever you’re working here yourself, and you get tired, you’ll just glance up from your notes, and remember the time we had sex right on this table, and people will ask you what you’re smiling at, and you’ll have to be like, ‘nothing.’” 

As she was speaking, her voice got lower, and her smirk grew wider, and her naked shin was almost touching his knee, and the buttons of her shirt came undone, one by one, under her long fingers; and this was a terrible idea and he was pretty sure that they would end up arrested for gross indecency; and he didn’t care.

He sprung up, knocking over his chair, grabbed her face forcefully with both hands and kissed her hard on the mouth. Surprised, she would draw back, had he not held her firmly in place – and after an instant, startle melted into delight. In the force of his lips pressing on hers, in the uneven shortness of his breath, in the clattering of the chair echoing off the glass walls, she recognized the fierce strength of his want for her, a strength that overpowered his anxiety, a strength that he no longer sought to conceal. That’s why the magic demands for the pleasure to be shared, she thought. You need to put your hidden self on the line. You admit another person into your inner space. You give and you take. Growth demands vulnerability. Here’s the vital power – no hiding, just you in your real, raw nature. 

Their kiss abated. They opened their eyes. Her hair looked even lighter against the pink flush of her face. “I knew you had an eager spirit,” she murmured. “Show me more of it, it’s delicious.” He lowered his eyes with a sheepish grin. She reached down and tugged at his trouser belt. “And get naked already!”

The cool confidence she maintained even now was irresistible. He took a shaky breath, undid the buckle, and with several impatient pulls got rid of his trousers, socks and shoes all at once. Then he looked up – and caught a faceful of white cotton fabric as Diane threw her shirt at his head.

He heard her laugh, and felt her scent surround him. Slowly, he lifted the shirt from his eyes, like a curtain, and now he saw her – sitting in the middle of the table, on her haunches, in her underwear – a cute black silk affair, two short interruptions of her nakedness. The fact that he wasn’t running his hands all over her skin was unacceptable. Now down to his boxers and his shirt, he hauled himself onto the tabletop, slid on the smooth wood, grabbed onto her, and leaned in for another enthusiastic kiss. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him hard into her, and tasted him hungrily.

“Let me,” she interrupted when he moved to unbutton his shirt. Then she exhaled and paced herself at her work, fiddling with the buttons far longer than it was necessary.

“So, this is your first time since you’ve been here.” The first button was done; she traced with her finger the skin over his collarbone on the way to the next one.

“It… isn’t yours?”

“Got lucky once or twice.”

“Who with? …If it’s not, you know, a secret.”

“You know that cute servant boy that always used to grind coffee in the canteen?” Button down.

“…No?” 

“Well, doesn’t matter. He got a better job in the town. Maybe for the better, I was starting to be turned on by the mere smell of coffee.” Button down. “So, how were you relieving all that tension these past months?”

He gave a lopsided smile. “Why… why do you want to know?”

She tilted her head, eyes down on her fingers. “Well, we only know each other from class, we’ve never really talked… maybe I’m curious about your sexual side?” The last button was done. She threw the shirt open, baring his shoulders, placed her hands flat on his chest and looked back at him with a smirk. He had to admit that, considering the situation, being coy about this felt a little idiotic.

“Well, you know. Like everyone. Privacy of the showers and a vivid imagination.” The shirt slid off him, down to his wrists behind his back, bit like a straitjacket now.

“You’ve got a vivid imagination, then.” The tilt of her head increased. “Have you ever imagined me?”

He flinched, moved back, and tried to hide a guilty smile behind his frantic efforts to get the shirt off his wrists. “Okay, I don’t have to answer that!”

She laughed. “That counts as an answer.” She pinched his cheek. “And you seemed so mild-mannered, too!”

He finally freed himself, put his hands on his knees, rolled his eyes, and sighed. Which accentuated his chest muscles quite nicely, she thought.

“I really like your chest,” she informed him. “Very… caressable.”

“Well, thanks?” He decided to sound petulant. “I’d like to say the same, but I can’t see your…”

She didn’t hesitate one bit. With a quick easy move she reached behind her back, unclasped the strap, and shrugged the bra off her. Her breasts, he noted, barely bothered to drop – they stood poised, perky and spectacular, in his full view. 

His palpable awe was delicious. Taking care to produce a little bounce, she arched her back and straightened her shoulders, showing herself off. 

“Well?” she asked. “How do you like my—" He lunged forward, planted his face between her breasts, and pushed his lips into her skin. “A-hah-haah… alright. That counts as an answer.”

He was at that moment lost in a surge of dizzying desire. He hunched low as she knelt high. He got her sides, just below the ribs, in a determined hold. Her breasts were pressing against his face, a delightful, warm softness, firm and yielding. With an impulsive sigh of bliss, he started exploring her with studious kisses, moving down, to the underside of her right breast. She lifted her arms and weaved her elbows above her head, let herself slacken in his grip a little, and closed her eyes. As he circled up towards her nipple, the tickling sensation got a primal edge to it, a familiar heat building up from her core. He reached her pale areola and nuzzled it with his lower lip, going around. Her breath grew ragged. The kissing before had been passionate, but not too illegal. Now all innocence lay abandoned. The nerves he was playing with now sang with an unambiguous sexual thrill. 

He felt her nipple harden, put it in his mouth, and met it with the tip of his tongue. She sighed, and the pleasure in her voice sharpened his arousal. He rose up and their eyes met. She smiled, pushed him away gently, and slid off her panties, down her legs, with the same casual ease as before – as much bashfulness about her as if she was taking off a glove. All of her was exposed to him now, and he looked on, the light-headed with eagerness – the clean-shaven pubic mound, the stark taut muscles of the inner thigh where her legs met her body, and there her flesh growing more delicate: a curve, a fold, the colour pink.

She wouldn’t just have him stare unproductively, though. She leaned into him and he instinctively embraced her naked, warm body. She shot him a quick, enticing look, put her hands on his shoulders, and then gave him a dancelike, full-bodied caress, sliding down his skin, across his chest, across his stomach, across his underbelly, until finally she buried her fingers under his waistband, pulled down just a little, and stopped.

“Your hair colour matches,” she observed.

“Yeah, well, I’m mousy all over.”

She tufted the curls with her thumbs. “Mm, it’s a cute hue.” At an infuriatingly relaxed pace, she pulled the boxers down, baring the base of his cock, and then, millimetre by millimetre, his shaft. When she finally made it past the ridge of his head, the waistband could no longer contain all this coiled energy – and so his cock sprung free, swung violently up, and then as its own swollen weight brought it back down, it found its balance pointed expectantly upwards.

“Well, aren’t you pretty…” She smoothed her fingers lengthwise along its top, appreciating its curve and drawing a sharp breath out of Niko. But before he had any real chance to react, she abruptly let him go and turned around. She took the bowl, and inspected the table.

“So to do this,” she said, matter-of-factly, “we need a clear space.” He looked at her, dazed, erect and aching. She grabbed all the discarded clothes and tossed them away, to the floor. She placed the powder a little away to her right, within arm’s reach. She looked around and thought for a moment. Then she faced him. They were now on their knees, straight-backed, almost touching, completely naked, the vast glass and gas-lit Conservatory around and above them, the Ticker ticking quietly, deep early spring night beyond in the world.

“Okay, Niko,” she said. “Let’s work some magic.”

He beamed. “What are we supposed to do first?”

She shifted herself right up to him, and placed her palms flat on his chest. His cock pressed against her underbelly. She felt its rocklike hardness, full readiness brought on by raging blood.

“Don’t worry,” she replied. “I see you’re already doing all the right things.” She turned her awareness to the billowing heat between her own legs. “And so am I. So close your eyes, breathe in, and acknowledge the powder.” They both did this, goading their unwilling attention away from each other and towards their project. They sensed it, sitting still in its bowl and ready to receive an impulse, inert yet and sterile. “And now, relax.” In her voice, there was a flirty invitation. He felt her hands gently press against his chest, and he let himself yield to them, slowly drop backwards, until his shoulder blades rested against the wood. “Just relax. Our bodies know the rest.”

She shifted herself forward and squatted on his thighs, pressing against his cock. The rest of his body had been happy to lay down, but this one part resisted her pressure, and remained defiantly upright.

“Ready?” she asked. He looked up at her, and gave a lip-biting nod. She grabbed him, underhand, stopping to let herself enjoy the pulsing girth pressed against the base of her hand, a tickling touch of his tip on her inner wrist, leaving her skin slick with a thin film of precum. Then she lifted her hips, guided him between her legs, breathed in, and very slowly began to lower herself.

He arched his neck back. His world collapsed to that little warm wet sliding sensation, sensation of entering into her. She felt herself open up to him, felt her body eagerly make way, welcome his. The delightful fullness grew, kept growing, pleasure surging inch by inch. They were both absorbed into this feeling of joining together, joining closer and closer, until finally her haunches rested on his hips, him taken whole.

She brushed her hair back, and her smile crept broader across her face. “See? This—” she cleared her throat, her words having come out a hoarse whisper. “See? This is really simple magic.”

“Mhm” was the only answer he could muster. He looked at her, into the blue of her eyes, as if bewitched. Wait, _was_ he bewitched? Instinctively, his trained mind did a quick mental skim, but it returned the result he had already known. Nope. This feeling of blissful well-being, this apparent transmutation of his spine into warm caramel, it was all pure, all coming from within him. He put his hands on her waist and adjusted himself a little.

She started spinning her hips. His muscles followed, and soon they synced, an unhurried, languid rhythm. She leaned forward, and with her hands she explored him – slowly and studiously, as if his body was some fascinating science project. She noted the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. She noted the rapid pulse in his arteries. She noted his muscles flexing and relaxing to their bodies’ shared timing, and him flushing as she caressed him, and when she turned her fingers to toy with his nipples, she heard his small moan, and practically felt herself the butterfly flutter which seized his belly. 

He was overwhelmed by her exploration, lost under her hands, and for a while he just unfolded completely and delighted in the sensation. After a while of this he opened his eyes, meeting hers.

“That’s right,” she said, calmly. “Relax, let the pleasure fill your body.” She leaned down and put her hand on his cheek. “You look really cute lying on your back like that. And you’re doing” tock “a very good job.”

He gave a little laugh, and licked his lips. “Okay, well…” Wait. Hold on. Tock…?

Tock.

Suddenly rigid, they swerved towards the door.

Tock.

Footsteps. Heavy, hollow, and not human. In the hallway, approaching the Conservatory.

Niko and Diane exploded in a scramble of flailing limbs. They instantly understood that their only hope was to dive under the table. One of them grabbed the stone bowl on the way down. With panicked lucidity they caught their bags and all their clothes and got them under cover, and threw themselves on the floor next to them just as the door opened.

The table’s sheer size provided some modest hiding place. If positioned well, they could maybe keep themselves unseen. Right now, they were out of sight – of those entering, Niko and Diane only saw two pairs of legs; but those legs they recognised immediately.

Diane groaned under her breath.

Of all the legs in the entire damn Academy to march in at this time, the pair now crossing the threshold were the most calamitous imaginable choice. These legs, clad in no-nonsense black heels and half-covered by a formal business dress, bore upon them the terrible person of Professor Eleanor Kadar, Proctor Superior of the Vallnord Academy, the formal guardian and the staunchest supporter of its many codes of proper conduct.

And behind hers were the legs that had sounded the warning – dull, grey, massive legs of clay, supporting the quarter-ton body of one of the school’s work golems.

“See, here it is, as I suspected, yes.” Professor Kadar’s authoritative voice echoed off the glass panes. “Put on your footguards and come.” The golem affirmed with a level, sonorous tone. Their kind were allowed freely on the hallways’ limestone tiles, but on the glossy polychromatic marble of the Conservatory they had to take precautions to dampen their heavy tread.

Diane suddenly became aware that she was lying naked on her stomach on this floor, and gooseflesh rose on her skin. Niko, who ended up splayed mostly on top of her, felt her shudder, and thus suddenly became aware of her body pressed against his. 

“Those third-years were supposed to bring it back to the thaumaturgy lab this evening, yes.” The Proctor Superior’s footsteps, echoing like a judge’s mallet, were taking her in their direction, and they now understood what brought her here – the thaumometer on the table next to theirs. “Disciplinary action will be taken, yes. We're only admitting adults here, and yet I feel like we're running a creche. This is flagrant carelessness with school property.” She stopped by the thaumometer, some fifteen feet away from them. Alright. Unless she bent down, she wouldn’t notice them. Diane breathed a little easier. “Oh, will you come over already?”

Niko shifted restlessly. The initial panic had made him go limp, but now his cock grew heavy again, stiffening in its resolve.

In their general direction were now shuffling two clay legs clad in outrageously pink and fluffy bunny slippers.

These were the only shoes on the market that were soft and large enough, the administration had explained to the board, and they didn’t want to spend on custom-made. The administration failed to find anything funny about this straightforward and practical solution. And so, right now, did Diane.

She watched the golem stop by Professor Kadar. She heard her bark out instructions. And suddenly, she felt Niko’s hand slide towards her clit.

She turned to him sharply.

“Can you hold the moan?” he whispered.

“You’re insane!” she mouthed back.

“If we’re really quiet…”

Her eyes darted back to the pair now disassembling the thaumometer’s tubes for safe carrying. They were making quite a bit of metallic noise. Her attention flew to the sensation of being sandwiched between the hard, icy floor, and his hard, warm body. She felt his cock at her inner thighs, and his hand on her underbelly, and his hair tickling her shoulder, and an irresistible heat rising up in her.

She gave him a judgemental look, pursed her lips, and lifted up her hips so he may enter her more easily. 

She focused on her breathing, and exhaled very very slowly as his cock slipped into her body again. She timed herself very carefully with him, helping him slow down on forward thrusts, avoiding noise. His left arm reached around her shoulder. She took his right and guided it, to exactly the right spot, and suggested to his fingers exactly the right pressure. Then she supported herself on her elbows, propping his weight up with her back, and gave herself up to him.

He kissed her on the nape of her neck, and then leaned forward to look at the profile of her face. Her eyes were fixed on the woman and the golem, but it was a bright, absent stare. Her cheek was flushed, hair was getting in her face, and she bit down on her lip in a grin quite unlike her normal half-smile.

He rubbed his cheekbone against hers, listened to her breath, and thrust deep, into the engulfing warmth.

Her whole mind was taken over by Niko’s cock, by Niko’s finger, by Niko’s weight on her, by Niko’s reckless, naked, unrestrained passion. She saw and heard the Proctor Superior with little awareness. “No, lower. To the left. Tuck the antenna in first. Yes. Correct.” Diane slowly closed her eyes. He had a good angle on her now, going deep, deep and satisfying… “Now turn this screw.” He pulled out, and with another thrust was back in, and she took him, to the hilt, felt his girth stretch her out…

She let out a tiny, whimpering moan. Immediately, with voiceless laughter, he pinned her bodily to the floor, grabbed at her head with his right hand and smothered her face into his left inside elbow, and pressed his temple to hers.

“Sshh…” he hissed.

She had to hold back laughter, but he made it easier - he was now bearing down on her with his whole weight, squeezing her against the marble, making her work for each breath. This was intensely interesting.

“Put your finger,” she breathed out each word carefully through her teeth and into his arm, “back on my clit.”

“Will you keep quiet?”

“I’ll be good.” Her gaze caught on the golem’s slippers. She found them hilarious again, and fought down another bout of laughter. 

He did as she asked, and resumed his thrusting, fucking her slowly, heavily, grinding her into the ground. She exhaled raggedly, still muffled. She wriggled one of her arms from under him and sank her fingers in his hair. He felt her squirm under him. His cock felt so good in her, and the world’s most stern guardian of morality was just next to them, and his weight pressed down on her, and he was touching her exactly at the right spot--

He felt her muscles tense up. Her legs weaved around his, her feet arched, and her toes curled. Her eyebrows twisted, she sank her teeth hard into his forearm, and in her chest he sensed the hard battle she fought to stop each breath from coming out as a loud, full-bodied moan--

“There, done.” The black shoes whirled around and took two steps forward, towards the hidden lovers, and suddenly stopped. “Goodness me, what is this chair doing on the floor?”

Niko and Diane stopped dead. The chair which he had overturned in his eagerness to get to her still lay on the floor, right before the Proctor Superior’s advancing steps.

“This whole school is going to the dogs, yes. In my time, we would never be so thoughtless to leave disorder behind us. We should be training our elites, but are raising rabble.” She stopped by the chair, and gave out an indignant snort. “Pick it up, will you.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Niko whispered. Diane, his arm still in her teeth, stared at the incoming slippers and frantically looked for a way out - but there was none. The slippers stopped, a clay knee slammed to the floor, the massive bulk bent down - and suddenly the two helpless students found themselves staring right into the golem’s hollow eyes, two empty round holes in a vast angular head.

A few astoundingly long seconds passed.

The grey head tilted. Inside it, data was being rapidly processed.

The two warm-blooded creatures unexpectedly found under the table were identified as first-year students. Nothing too unusual about finding students here at night, especially as the trimester’s exams were approaching. These two were apparently engaged in some sort of an ecstatic ritual. The golem noted that their work station was very disorderly. The golem also noted that they both were in extreme violation of the Academy’s dress code. But it was not the golem’s duty to watch such infractions. Everything, therefore, appeared to be in order.

With complete indifference, the golem turned to the chair, picked it up, and slid it back into its place. Then, upon further instruction, he picked up the thaumometer, and a minute later the Conservatory’s door closed behind his back and the Proctor Superior’s.

And only then Niko finally exhaled, and at this moment felt a rapid quaking underneath him – Diane’s suppressed, hysterical laughter.

“Fuck…!” she managed, eventually. “Fucking hell!”

He couldn’t agree more. He pressed his forehead between her shoulder blades and laughed himself, quietly, his jittered nerves letting go of the stress. Some minute later, he calmed down and gasped in air.

“So, since when do you swear, anyway?” he asked.

“I always swear when the situation requires it.” They spoke carefully, in hushed voices. He was still inside her, and she felt that the sense of danger in her mind was now being rapidly undermined by the resurging want – no, a need – for the release which had so narrowly eluded her. She looked to the door. Little chance anyone else will drop in, but—

She shrugged him off her, crawled out from under the table and stood up. With her hand extended towards the door, she focused. 

He rose up beside her, and saw a faint orange glow briefly surround the studded wood. He recognised the pattern – a basic muffler spell.

“Why are you…” he trailed off as she next turned her outstretched hand to a large antique bookshelf right by the door, tensed, and pulled – and the shelf lurched. 

“Help me,” she said hoarsely.

He reached out with his hand. The bookshelf was a massive bulk of dark carved oak, but its padded legs helped with the sliding. A few sharp skids later, it was standing against the door.

Niko panted with the exertion. “If anyone does want to come in,” he said, “we’re gonna have a hard time explaining why did we construct a soundproof barricade.”

She leaned against the table, winded from the effort as well. She looked at him. “If,” she said. “We’ll figure something out if it comes to that, but I’m now about to come, and I’m not going to be quiet, and I don’t want anybody to fucking interrupt me!”

There was some piercing, intense madness in her eyes. Niko saw it, and was overcome with a madness of his own, lunging out from his spine, rising up roaring to meet hers. 

She yelped happily as he grabbed her, turned her around, bent her over the table top, bore down on her, and entered her with raw heated energy. His left hand pinned her firmly to the table by the joint of her shoulder and her neck. Before she had time to wonder where his other hand was, she felt it squeeze under her, and find the exact spot she had shown him, and touch—

“Fuck!” 

He chortled. She definitely had no intention to keep quiet. This was positively a shout that she let out just now, saturated with a sort of awed laughter, a shout which he thought rattled all the glass panes of the Conservatory. The sheer joy of that shout made him swell with a warmth, filled him with a determination to fuck as much joy into her as she can possibly bear—

She felt him steel himself, tighten his grip, thrust harder, his hips and thighs clasping loudly against her—

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Even this shred of vocabulary soon abandoned her. She withered and squirmed, her right leg wrapped around his like a grapevine, his weight pounded her into the table, his touch blazed on her nerves. She’d clearly coaxed out a demon in this soft-spoken guy, and a spectacular demon it was. Her moans grew deeper, from her chest, from her core, and echoed in this amphitheatre of a hall, immersed him in the sound of her excitement – they came like waves, each one more forceful, each one reaching a higher pitch—

She felt it rise, and overwhelm her. She flailed around, looking for something to grab onto, found his head, pressed it against hers—

And he heard her stop abruptly in mid-moan, and he felt her muscles contract around him, and he found himself pressed cheek to cheek against her. When sound did come out of her, it was more of a sigh, relieved and satisfied. Her leg, which had been twisting hard against his, went limp.

He lifted himself off her and his hand let her go but stayed on her back, just resting there, feeling out the wonderful, delighted trembling of her body.

With a groaning sigh, she lifted herself up. There was an ache in her body where she had to bear their weight against the hard wood, but it enhanced the bliss that filled her. She straightened out her fingers, rubbed her nose, and…

Something was off.

She sensed it. They both sensed it. They turned to the door. It appeared undisturbed. Yet there was some intruding magical presence nearby. Was someone in here? Was someone watching? In their minds they searched the room frantically, followed the energy lines. The source of this disturbance was very close by, right by them, at their feet—

Oh.

Under the table, among a pile of tussled clothes, the bowl of germinal powder was happily crackling with strong vital energy.

That was, in fact, still a thing.

“Well,” he said, relaxing, “I think we’re gonna pass.”

She smirked. He was still erect, glistening in the air. “You should top it up. Just to make sure.” She hauled herself back onto the table, where they had started. Resting back on her elbows, she spread her legs, displaying herself to him. “Come on, I want to feel you cum in me.”

The speed at which he joined her was astounding. He leaned down over her, entered her one more time – and felt himself barely hold it together. He stopped, breathed deeply, and looked at her, her face, her body under his. He swallowed. 

“Niko?”

“Just a second.” His eyes disappeared under his hair, and she saw a flash of his grin. “I’m just enjoying the feel of you.” Inside her, in that snug warmth, his cock twitched, the sensation now almost unbearable, demanding release. 

She smiled, smugly. “It’s better than you imagined in the showers, isn’t it?”

He half cringed, half laughed, pinched her nipple, and flicked it gently, and her whole breast did a firm little jiggle. “Leave my shower thoughts alone,” he muttered. Then, able to endure this no longer, he thrust, and immediately felt the tell-tale thrill seize him.

She weaved her legs around his lower back, wrapped her elbows around his neck, and pulled him close to her. His breath broke into a moaning, and his movements grew frantic as he lost control of his pace. He breathed in for the final time, and his moan came out as a soft rugged groan. He felt his body take the plunge, and grasped tight onto her – and then his devouring inner need resolved itself in a wave of intense, blinding joy. His voice by her ear dropped to a low purr, his body slackened over hers, and his cum flowed into her, deep inside.

Everything was quiet again. High above them, the brass universe ticked benignantly. 

He rolled off her, and they lay side by side.

She cleared her throat. “I guess we better go, before someone actually checks on here.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we better.”

They stayed put for another minute or two. Then, with a sigh, she curled upwards, got off the table, and on unsteady legs went to look for her clothes.

He slowly sat up. Endorphins floating about him, he watched her carefully place the bowl on the table, and clean herself up with a piece of tissue from her bag, and he tried to figure out what had just happened, and how exactly was he supposed to act now. 

She fished out her underwear from the pile – the cute matching black silk affair – and suddenly he twigged.

“Hey, Diane? Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“Do you always wear swank underwear while doing coursework?”

She paused a little. Uh-oh. “All my other stuff is in the laundry.”

“And, like, keep yourself clean-shaven down there?”

She tried to shut him down with a patronizing look. “I like it that way. Feels clean.”

His smile was widening. “Okay, tell me one more thing… hey, look at me! One more thing. Before we came here, did you know that the midnight catalyst was going to fail?”

She opened her mouth, but instead of her intended reply, a skittish laughter came out. Ah, shit. Busted.

“I didn’t know for sure. But I suspected that there was a possibility.”

He shifted forward to his knees and leaned towards her. “And when you asked me to do this project with me, and then insisted on something with a vital catalyst, did you suspect it then?”

She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling and sighed. “Look, I just came across this way of doing magic and I thought it would be fun to try it. And then I thought, who would be fun to do this with? And I thought of you.” She looked back at him. Her admission gave him a definite check. She pressed on. “And I was right. This was really fun.” She ran her hand along her body, and winced as it brushed past the crest of her pelvis, bruised and tender from getting ground into marble and wood. “Though honestly, I envisioned a gentler affair.”

“Well…” He rubbed the teeth marks on his forearm. Now he recalled all the things he did to her, and was at once struck with pride and embarrassment. “Huh,” he said. She saw his conflict, and her doubts returned.

“I mean, I hope you don’t feel… angry about this? I mean I came up with that stream alternative so you wouldn’t feel pressured and I hoped—”

He interrupted her. “Want to do this again sometime?” She blinked. “I mean, not a ritual, just plain sex. I don’t want to do more magic, I just want you.”

There was a faint nervous quaver to his voice. Well, she had wondered who he was, deep inside. In an instant, she saw this shyness, and the shamelessness he had shown her so bluntly, and saw that he was perfectly himself in both these aspects. Allaying materials came to her mind – hidden potentials, secret energies. Complex natures of all living things. She smiled, reached out to him, and kissed him lightly on the mouth.

“Yup,” she said.

“Awesome.” Her eyes were very close to his. He tried to find something smart to say. 

“Cool,” he added.

And the next day, Professor Straub who taught the Intermediate Alchemy course noted that their germinal powder was satisfactory but that they had ground the myrrh too fine, which diminished the overall potency, and so he only gave them a passing grade.

So that’s the point of this whole story and the reason why I wrote it down for you, always remember to be careful when grinding your ingredients and that overdoing something can be just as bad as negligence! I hope you found this instructive and profitable and that your knowledge of useful things has improved.


End file.
